


1966

by BalladOfASkinnyLegend



Category: Bob Dylan (Musician), The Travelling Wilburys (Band)
Genre: Body Image, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:55:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BalladOfASkinnyLegend/pseuds/BalladOfASkinnyLegend
Summary: '66 was quite the rollercoaster of a year for Bob Dylan.
Relationships: Bob Dylan/George Harrison, Bob Dylan/Sara Lownds
Kudos: 19





	1. May

Bob could hardly hear the click of his typewriter as he wrung out song after song. The cigarette smoke hung thick in the hotel room air, the noise of his guests deafening, but he didn‘t notice, just kept writing. 

It‘s difficult for Bob to focus nowadays, the hours go by far too quickly for him to devote himself to an activity like he used to. Though, if he started something, he couldn‘t stop. He figures that must be the speed in his cocktail of intoxicants. That‘s probably the exact thing that keeps him from completely snapping in half, too.

All of it felt like too much. He thought he‘d felt everything there was to feel when he was struggling to get by in New York. I mean, for God‘s sake, people payed him in hamburgers for weeks of constant performing. He didn‘t think he could feel so hopeless now that he‘s supposedly stable. „Stable, how comical“ the poet thought to himself.

Just then, he noticed he hadn‘t written anything for a few minutes now. He hesitated briefly before the half-empty page was plucked from the typewriter and, within seconds, thrown to the bin. Bob leaned back in his chair and took his surroundings in. The mild glow of the moon outside his window sharply contrasted the blinding light engulfing him - it made him think of Woodie Guthrie, back at the hospital in ’61. The taste in his mouth felt rank, he reached for another bottle of wine to rinse the rot off of his tongue. He considered getting up and joining the others, but he could make out Albert‘s gravelly swearing within the hubbub in the other room, decided against worsening his headache. Instead, he stood and walked to his bathroom mirror.

The bags under his eyes were dark, the whites of his eyes were even redder than the bruises on his bottom lip. He averted his gaze to the bathtub faucet, just stared for a while before deciding against whatever was on his mind and reaching for the tiny orange medicine bottle instead. He swallowed a few of the little oblong capsules dry and swayed right back to his room, letting himself fall onto the stiff, cold bed.

He pretended to be asleep until it was time to get back on the road.


	2. August

„I thought these were painkillers, man“ He groaned. Sara simply hummed as her petting of his hair didn‘t falter. He‘d been back in Woodstock for a few weeks now, he looked better. Sara recalls seeing Bob‘s sunken cheeks and bruised limbs, nothing compared to how twisted his bloodied body was – not unlike what she imagined when reading the Bible. She shook the thought as quickly as it came to her. „No time to dwell on the negative things“ She assured herself. After all, the couple were only ever this calm in her dreams.

The silence seemed to have gotten too drawn out. „Do they really not help?“ Her voice was barely above a whisper, afraid any volume might just wake her up.

„Who‘s they?“ Bob‘s speech was slurred, sounded as if he was on the verge of sleep. Sara wasn‘t as afraid of him sleeping anymore. It felt more secure now that she‘s sure he‘s living off of more than pills and cigarettes.

„The painkillers. Do they not ease the pain?“ Her tone was calm and clear, slightly louder this time, so he understood.

Exhaling through his nose seemed to be a sufficient answer to Bob. Usually Sara would scold him for this, argue with him, but she decided to let it slide just this once. She was just grateful he was in their bed and his hair was in between her fingers again.

After what seemed like mere minutes (must have been hours, actually, considering the sun had started setting already) he spoke up again.

„Hey, Sara?“

„What is it, Bobby?“

Before she knew it, she was looking into his sky-blue eyes, like she used to before they got married, and he was looking back at hers just the same. Bob barely had to move to press his lips to Sara‘s, she let it last as long as he wanted it to. He gently fell to his pillow as soon as they parted. His eyes stayed closed.

„What is it?“ She allowed herself to repeat the question.

„I just love you, ‘s all.“ He said matter-of-factly. She smiled to herself, letting her hands return to his curls.


	3. October

George was nervous. Last time he‘d seen Bob was ’65, and back then he didn‘t have to break the ice. Bob was flying then. George worried - now that Bob‘s seemingly sober, it‘ll be different. He doesn‘t know how or why it would be, but he‘s afraid of it.

His legs hadn‘t shaken this much since his first show with the quarrymen, as they were called, which completely baffled him – the cavern was his first ever performance, his first audience, but this? This is just Bob Dylan‘s porch, yet he‘s shaking like one of those itty bitty handbag pooches. 

Despite himself, he raised his knuckles to the door and knocked.

„Who is it?“ came the hoarse voice George had heard on all of his favourite records.

„it‘s George-„ His voice cracked. He cleared his throat „George Harrison.”

All that could be heard on the other side of the door was slight footsteps. George wasn’t given much time to prepare before the door was carefully opened – very unlike Bob, George noted.

Immediately, George found himself engulfed in Dylan’s arms. “If it isn’t my favourite Beatle,” He could hear Bob smile into his shoulder “Man, you should’ve come sooner”. They stayed in an embrace for an unusually long time before Bob pulled away and George got a chance to take in his appearance.

Bob’s hair was shorter, neater, it no longer reminded him of a storybook witch. Both of his eyes were brighter, they didn’t look like they were constantly fighting sleep anymore. His cheeks were plumper, slight stubble tracing his defined jaw, making him look less like a teenager and more like a man his own age. His neck seemed thicker, George used to worry it would break under the weight of Bobs curly mane. His shoulders looked broader, they filled his clothes out much better now-

“You gonna get in here or do you want me to close the door on you?” Bob sighed in what George could only assume was frustration. He didn’t want to take any chances.

“Sure, ta.”

That made Bob smile, which made George smile. The door was closed before George could even register the change in scenery. Bob spoke up just as quickly.

“Do I really look that bad?”

George paused. “Sorry?”

“You were eyeing me, man. Every cat comin’ over here does. I look worse.”

The smile on Bobs face tried and, frankly, failed to convince George that he doesn’t care. Bobs tone suggested there was no arguing his way out of this - either he agrees, or he’s a liar in Bob’s eyes. Still, the Beatle was about to answer, when Dylan cut in.

“Forget it, man.”

Bob lit a cigarette.


End file.
